


Tired Of Them Looking

by andersonblaines



Series: Small Town [2]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andersonblaines/pseuds/andersonblaines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small cottage in a tiny village gives Ellie some much needed time to breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Ellie drives the car to the end of the road before she realizes something, and abruptly stops.

 

“Alec,” she says, then pulls a face. “Do I call you that? Is that your name now?”

 

He smiles at her, shrugs. “I don’t care. Call me what you want.”

 

“Right. Wanker it is then.” Ellie grins and Hardy grins too, because anything is better than what just happened.

 

“Why’d you stop the car?”

 

“Oh. Well, we need stuff. Like toothbrushes, and clean clothes, and pyjamas.”

 

He looks at her like she’s an alien. “What happened to spontaneity, Miller?”

 

Hardy says it before he even realizes, before he can even begin to think of the consequences. Ellie flinches, physically flinches, and he curses under his breath.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t think. It just came out. Habit, I suppose.” When they were on the cliff, everything was so important, every emotion was heightened. Now, he figures the _fight or flight_ of the situation is dying down, hence why his brain clearly decided to revert to idiot mode.

 

Ellie takes a deep breath in and just looks straight ahead, blinking a bit faster than usual. “I’m going to change my name just so you can’t call me that anymore.”

 

He chuckles and reaches his hand out to touch her arm. “You okay?”

 

Slowly, she nods. “I hate to be so practical, but I do actually need to clean my teeth and wear other clothes. Can we take a quick detour?”

 

**

 

They stop at her rental house and his caravan / lodge arrangement. She swore she wouldn’t stay there for long, but it’s been nearly six months and the thought of moving again makes her want to curl up into a ball. They’re only put back by fifteen minutes; Ellie doesn’t want much and Hardy’s adamant he doesn’t need anything until Ellie forces clothes into a bag and smiles when she sees a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Turns out he is actually a human being after all.

 

Ellie gets behind the wheel with no hesitation this time. For a moment, the thought had crossed her mind to just not go and leave him stranded, but she managed to convince herself that Hardy was right (or Alec… She’s still not sure). She does need a break. No matter how much she tries to tell herself otherwise, carrying on without being able to breathe / sleep / live properly is not going to end well for anyone.

 

Thankfully there is little traffic on the roads, meaning their journey is quick and without the familiar stop-start of motorway traffic. Hardy wouldn’t know what to say to her if they stopped. When she’s driving, he can pretend that she’s concentrating on the road and that any conversation would be detrimental to that. If they were to get stuck in gridlock, they’d have to speak and he really, really does not know what to say to make her feel okay.

 

They drive in silence for a considerable time, with Hardy blurting out occasional directions from his phone’s navigation system.

 

“So,” she says, when they’re heading towards some main road or other, “where are you taking me?”

 

“Straight over this roundabout,” he directs, then huffs. “A cottage in Bath, well, near it.”

 

“Bath?” she echoes, screwing her nose up. “Why Bath? Why so far away?”

 

“Really?” he says, indicating a turn ahead. “It’s less than a two hour drive.”

 

Ellie takes the turn, says, “Yes, well. That’s a long time for us Broadchurch natives.”

 

He laughs at her a bit, then she laughs at herself and they’re both laughing before either of them knows what’s going on. He’s so grateful for it; his nerves have been on edge for the past hour and this is something he can deal with. Cliffs and tears, not so much.

 

The journey after that is mostly quiet. Hardy realizes that there’s not a lot for them to talk about that isn’t intrinsically linked to her kids, her husband, or her hometown.

 

It’s a sad thought.

 

**

 

They arrive at the cottage a little after four in the afternoon. It’s a small place in a tiny village, far away from the prying eyes of Broadchurch and its inhabitants. There’s moss growing up the walls, a stone fireplace in the lounge and a flower arch leading into the back garden. Hardy knows from experience that the view from the top floor in the morning is spectacular – nothing but rolling hills, the occasional farm animal and miles and miles of pure green grass.

 

It’s also completely void of sea, of sand, of cliffs. He wants her as far away from all of that as possible.

 

**

 

Hardy takes the bedroom on the top floor, with its window seat and double bed. Ellie has the room on the floor below him, slightly smaller but with a magnificent view of the local countryside. He’s unpacking when he hears her phone ring.

 

“Hello? … Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you want me to do … No, that’s not what I meant- … I am sorry, Lucy, but I just … No, okay, fine. I’ll speak to you soon.”

 

He can almost hear her sigh from up the stairs.

 

Throwing his socks over the bed, he makes his way to her, trying to think of how to be comforting, trying to remember what he did when his wife was upset.

 

Ellie’s sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone which is tossed haphazardly next to her. She doesn’t move an inch when he walks in, just keeps staring at the floor.

 

“You okay?”

 

She shakes her head wordlessly. Hardy moves to sit next to her on the bed, leaving enough distance so that she doesn’t feel uncomfortable but sitting close enough so that she knows she’s not alone, no matter what she might be thinking.

 

Ellie’s fed up of everyone blaming her for things that really aren’t her fault. Yes, there’s Joe and she’s responsible for not knowing about his … activities. She’s not to blame for what he did, and she’s not to blame for her son not eating properly. Lucy rang to tell her that Fred won’t eat, but she can’t help that. She cannot even imagine trying to act all cheery around a toddler at the moment, she was a fool to think that she could just return to everyday life after what she felt like on that cliff.

 

“Who was that?” he asks, and she really doesn’t know why he’s bothering anymore.

 

“Why do you care?” she says, her voice pleading and somewhat annoyed. “Why do you even care?”

 

He starts to shift a bit closer, but then realizes it might not be welcome and so stays where he is. “Well, Ellie,” he replies, his accent thick and heavy in the silent room. “I don’t know.”

 

She looks at him, scoffs. “Thanks Alec, bloody lot of use that was.”

 

“I wasn’t being serious,” he says, voice rising slightly with indignation. “You know why.”

 

“Please,” she states, sarcasm dripping off her words. “Enlighten me.”

 

He looks her in the eyes and says, as honest as he’s ever been, “Because you’re my friend.” Yes, it wasn’t the easiest thing for him to say, but it’s the only thing he could think of and well, it is true.

 

Ellie laughs a bit, then stares at him, leaning back a bit. “You’re serious?”

 

“Bloody hell Miller, of course I am.”

 

Before he can apologize, she smiles at him and says, “It’s fine. I’ll change it when we get back.” She goes a bit quieter, looks at the floor. “I’m not him.”

 

He smiles, rubs her arm a few times. “No, you’re not.”

 

**

 

Ellie spends some time exploring the cottage and its surrounding grounds before she realizes that it’s half-five. She looks over to the west, where the sun is setting, leaving a trail of pink and orange ribbons in the sky, casting shadows on the tall trees and the bushes that adorn the nearby hills.

 

It’s a beautiful part of the world and she’s so, so thankful that Hardy didn’t take her to a beach. She’s got a feeling he chose this place because of its distance from the sea, but still, she’s grateful either way.

 

She summons him from the kitchen after discovering that nearly all of the cupboards are bare, aside from some cereal and an out-of-date jar of jam. It’s completely crazy that they’ve arrived with no food and very little cash between them, but she feels like a new person. Away from the familiarities of Broadchurch, she can be honest to herself and realize that she really, really needed this time to just _be_.

 

After some discussion, Hardy offers to walk to the local shop to buy dinner, but she refuses. Within a few minutes, she’s in the car, heading to the nearest fish and chip shop that he found. The atmosphere in the cottage is heavy and she needs a bit of time to herself to just process everything that happened between them.

 

Ellie places her order and smiles when the man doesn’t look at her like she’s the one who killed Danny, as is the normal greeting in Broadchurch these days. She pays with Hardy’s money and chuckles when she realizes she’s shacked up with her former boss in some random man’s cottage, miles away from her family and her life.

 

Maybe her life doesn’t _just_ exist in Broadchurch.

 

It’s not the first time she’s thought of moving away, but it is the first time she’s considered it as an actual possibility. She could get a new job, find Fred a good preschool, maybe move further north. She’s sick of the sea, maybe a big city would be a positive change. Getting lost in a sea of people sounds like a dream right now.

 

The man from behind the counter calls her, and the fantasy’s gone as quick as it came.

 

Reality hits hard.

 

**

 

They eat the fish and chips in a comfortable silence, save for the occasional “Chuck me the ketchup.”

 

Once cleared away, Ellie’s left in silence when Hardy goes to take his medication. Her thoughts take over for a while. She thinks about Tom, about how he’d be going to football at this time usually, about Fred, and if he’s eating yet. She thinks of how bad a mother she must be if her son won’t even talk to her, of how awful she is to not really care that her other son is not eating his food.

 

Her eyes fall upon a kitchen knife that was left out when she was navigating her way around the kitchen earlier. Without even consciously realizing it, she’s walking over to the kitchen top and holding it in her hands, the blade resting between her fingers.

 

It’s shiny and looks barely used. There’s even a cap on the end, proving that it’s sharp enough to do some damage if needed. Her rational thoughts aren’t really there at all, she just sees the knife and feels the pain inside and somehow, the two are matching up perfectly in her mind.

 

There’s a window in front of her, with a gate and potted flowers lining the path and it’s so pretty and it just doesn’t fit with what she’s feeling.

 

“Ellie?” Hardy’s stood at the door to the kitchen, her back facing him. He can see what’s going on perfectly.

 

“Mm,” she replies, still staring at the knife.

 

“We good?” He takes a step closer. He really does not want to do this again.

 

She snaps out of it, looking over at him and putting the knife down. “Oh, yeah, fine.”

 

“Ellie,” he urges, walking towards her as she turns around. “Come here.”

 

“What?” she questions, face crumpling with confusion.

 

“Come here,” he repeats, holding his arms out. That’s how, in the middle of a stranger’s kitchen in some anonymous village, she ends up voluntarily hugging Alec bloody Hardy.

 

It’s quite nice actually, to be held like this. He has one hand around her shoulders and the other is resting on her lower back. Hardy pulls her closer and she finally puts her hands up around his too-skinny frame, too.

 

“Don’t think about it,” he whispers into her hair. “Don’t you dare.”

 

She feels a tear run down her cheek, straight into his crumpled white shirt. Ellie summons all of her strength to murmur, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 

Hardy runs his hand up and down her arm then pulls back. He places both of his hands on her upper arms, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Ellie, there is nothing wrong with you. You are a good person who bad things have happened to.” She drops her head, sniffs. “You’ll get through this, I promise.”

 

Ellie nods, lets out a deep breath. “Bloody sick of crying,” she jokes, smiling up at him sadly.

 

“Good job I brought lots of tissues then,” Hardy replies, stepping backwards into the hallway. “Wanna watch a movie?”

 


	2. Chapter Two

Both of them sit on the same sofa, a brown leather three seater that has been lightened from the sun through the bay window at the front of the room. Hardy puts himself at one end, determined to let Ellie choose how close or how far apart they should be. 

She comes in with drinks, cups of tea that they both cocoon in their hands to stay warm. It may be Autumn but there’s a definite chill in the cottage. Ellie looks at the sofa and has a mini battle within herself before plonking down onto the middle seat, not close enough to make it awkward but at a distance where she can still, just about, count the freckles on his face. 

They watch some random eighties movie, followed by two generic action movies. Neither of them pay attention to what is going on, but it’s background noise – it’s something to do to forget about everything else. 

When it’s dark, the tea long since finished and the movie credits rolling, Hardy stands up and stretches. He reaches his hand to Ellie, and she takes it to pull herself up. They’re walking out of the lounge when he announces, “I want your phone.” 

Ellie stops, stutters, “W-what do you mean?” 

“Christ Ellie, I mean what I said.” He’s tired and weary and his head hurts. 

She shakes her head slightly. “No,” she declares, then adds as an afterthought, “Why?”

Hardy lets out a deep breath, resting his hands on the chair at the kitchen table. “Because, I don’t think you need it. You don’t need phone calls or texts that are going to make you worry.” He huffs, lifts his hand to scratch his eye. “You don’t need that thing there to act as a constant reminder.”

“But what if there’s an emergency?”

“Then your sister can ring me. Simple. Now hand it over before I take it forcefully.” 

Reluctantly, Ellie passes him her phone from where it had been resting on the countertop. “I’m not happy about this, you know.” 

Hardy puts the phone in his trouser pocket and looks out of the window into the driveway. “You’re not happy anyway.” 

It’s only one sentence, but it knocks Ellie sideways. To have it put to her like that so bluntly is not easy to swallow. 

“I’m going to bed,” she declares, and walks out without a second glance. She can hear him calling her but ignores him completely. 

Ellie’s changed into her pyjamas when there’s a soft knock on the door. 

“Bugger off!” 

Hardy takes that as a sign to enter. “I’m not staying-”

“I hope not!” Ellie scoffs. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, I just,” he shifts from foot to foot in an anxious way that she’s never known from him before. 

“What?” 

“Well, I just came to check that you’re okay for the night.” 

Ellie shakes her head in disgust. He’s got a nerve. “Why yes, thank you, I’m fucking brilliant.”

“I meant, you know-”

“I’d be better if you left me alone.” It’s a low blow and she knows it, but she can’t help herself.

“Fine,” he spits. “I was just trying to be nice, but that clearly doesn’t work for you.”

“Well, there’s no need to worry, sir. As far as I can tell, there are no beams to hang myself from in here.” As soon as she says it, she’s know it’s a step too far and she feels horrible for the look that crosses his face. 

“Right,” he murmurs. He looks like he’s going to say something, but then thinks better of it and mutters, “Well, night then,” before practically sprinting out of the room. 

Ellie sits and shouts “Shit!” under her breath. She has no idea what is going on in her head, but she does know that she cannot end the day like this. 

Ellie’s out of bed and running after him before she knows it. “Alec!” she yells, and he turns around at the bottom of the stairs that lead to his room. 

“What?” he says, his whole body radiating impatience. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You don’t deserve that.” 

Hardy looks down at her. He’s so tired, his head is pounding, his neck aches, but she’s still here. She’s still in front of him, living and breathing and heart beating and he has to take that as progress, just for now. 

“It’s fine,” he says, and it is.

“No, it’s not. I was a first-class wanker when you were trying to help me and that’s not okay-”

“Ellie, really, I don’t mind.”

“But you should! You’re the only bloody friend I’ve got left and I treated you like crap and I’m sorry.”

He places a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Ellie smiles at him, then turns to walk back to her room. 

“Hey,” he calls, and she turns to face him. 

“Yeah?”

“Sure you’re okay?” 

Ellie just nods wordlessly and waves at him. He laughs at first, but then he waves back with overenthusiastic vigour. She grins at him before shutting the door softly behind her. 

She falls asleep more or less straightaway and dreams of nothing but blackness and waves. 

**

The next day is quiet. After a trip to the local supermarket to stock up on food and other such necessities, Ellie cooks him breakfast and they sip orange juice in relative silence. Hardy’s in a worn t-shirt and loose tracksuit bottoms. It definitely takes a while for her to get used to him without the suit and tie. 

Afterwards, they go for a walk around the local area that is supposed to be ‘short and exploratory’, but ends up lasting for over three hours as they get lost in long grass and footpaths. The obscenely loud rumble of Hardy’s stomach makes Ellie bend over with laughter, so they head back slowly where Ellie makes them chicken and mayonnaise baguettes with side salads (she adds the healthy part to ensure Hardy doesn’t keel over on her). 

**

Ellie’s sitting on the bench in the garden in the twilight, staring at nothing and trying to think of nothing too. She barely registers Hardy sitting down on her left side.

“When did you stop wearing it?” 

“Wearing what?” she asks quietly, gazing out at the hills. 

“Your wedding ring.”

“Oh,” she utters, her voice barely there at all. Minutes pass, and Hardy’s convinced that he’s made a huge mistake when she speaks. “I threw it into the sea when I was walking back to my hotel the night that he confessed.” She pauses, considers her words carefully. “It’s strange. I still try to play with it sometimes but obviously, it’s not there. I feel like I’m still married to him – well, I still am legally, but I’m not, not in here,” she says, tapping her chest above her heart. “We were so happy,” she breathes. 

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” he whispers, taking her left hand in his. 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “You should be. If a less competent detective had got the job, maybe I never would have found out it was him. I could have carried on living, completely in love and content with my life.” 

He squeezes her hand, puts his other on top. “But,” he says, tugging at her. “It would have been a lie.”

“It was all a lie anyway, apparently.” Ellie turns to look at him, smiling sadly. “But it was a lie that hurt a lot bloody less than this does.” 

Her bottom lip starts to tremble, so he pulls her into him. They stay like that for a while, Hardy holding her as the sun sinks into the horizon, Ellie’s silent tears falling onto his t-shirt. 

**

They both go to bed at eleven after more random movies. The day was considerably less eventful than before, but she still feels completely exhausted and so does he. 

Hardy is woken by her screams at precisely 2:43 in the morning. 

Before he can even realize what he’s doing, he’s galloping down the stairs, nearly falling on the last step. He grabs the bannister and saves himself, but it sets his heart going a bit quicker than he’d like. 

Hardy strides over to her door, pushing it open and taking in the scene before him. She’s twisted up in the covers, one leg sticking out on top and the other knotted in and amongst the duvet. Her head’s on the pillow, her mouth moving to mutter words that Hardy cannot understand. Next thing he knows, she’s trashing about, her arms waving around and her legs kicking out. She screams again, a broken and pitiful sound. Hardy’s heart is hurting, but not because of any physical problem. 

“Ellie,” he ventures, moving closer. “Ellie,” he repeats, louder this time. Up close, he can see that her face is wet – she’s been crying in her sleep. 

He closes the gap and perches on the side of the bed, shakes her shoulder gently. “Ellie, wake up,” he urges. He can’t bear to see her like this. 

She jerks, rolls away from him, moans, “No, not him, no.” Hardy gets up and moves around to the other side of her bed to shake her again. 

“Ellie,” he cries, desperation lacing his words. “Wake up!” 

Ellie can feel it pulling at the edges of her consciousness, can hear his voice calling her as she stirs, can sense his hand on her shoulder, the grip gentle yet urgent. She lets out another groan then falls silent. 

With the kind of slow speed that can only be associated with sleep, Ellie opens her eyes and looks straight at him. Hardy offers her a smile, but she just gasps for breath and lets her head fall back onto the pillow. Her eyes are wet; her eyelashes are sticking together like she’s got some cheap, clumpy mascara on and she hates it all in its entirety. 

There are a few minutes when they’re both silent as she tries to slow her breathing, but all it does is make her feel more drained and like a completely useless excuse for a functioning human being. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, her breaths becoming more erratic with every passing second. 

Hardy shifts closer, takes her hand into his. “You’re okay now. Just breathe.” 

She does as he says for a while, focusing on nothing but the rise and fall of her own chest beside his, until it slows enough not to feel like a heart attack anymore. 

“You were just dreaming,” he murmurs. “Nothing to worry about.”

She laughs at him. “Bloody hell Alec. I was fucking crying in my sleep.” 

Hardy squeezes her hand, completely unsure of what to do to make her feel better. “I know. But you’re okay now.” 

Ellie sits up a bit and stares at him. “Really,” she deadpans. “Am I?” 

She pulls her hand away from his and wipes at her eyes, tries to slow her breathing down. Hardy pushes at her. “Move over,” he says. 

She’s learnt just to do what he says now. He climbs in beside her after sorting out the tangled duvet cover. Propping up his pillows, he takes a long breath then talks. 

“When I followed the GPS into your house, I felt sick. It felt like the universe was playing some sick joke on me and I hated it.” He pauses, scratches the side of his face. “Telling you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do and I still think about how I could have made it easier for you, but then I remember that there is no good way to deliver that news.” 

He looks straight into her weary eyes and he feels so much for her. All of it is pain. 

“I hate him for what he did, but I hate him more for what he’s done to you.” He puts his hand on her cheek and she closes her eyes. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

A tear hits his hand and she laughs. “There I go, bloody crying again. I think that’s all I can do now.” 

“No matter,” he says, smiling. “You carry on.” 

Hardy pulls his hand away after a while, and Ellie sits up. “Do you want me to go and sleep in your bed or are you okay going back?” Her voice is shaky and very, very quiet. 

“No, I’m staying here and so are you,” he replies slowly.

“But,” she trails off, interrupted by hiccups. 

“No buts,” he states. “Come here.”

With some difficulty, they get into a comfortable position. Hardy sits up a bit, Ellie moves closer. She eventually falls asleep with her head resting on his chest, her arm across his torso. 

Hardy watches her sleep for half an hour, her face so peaceful, so inconsistent with what is really going on inside her head. He falls asleep to thoughts of Joe Miller’s face, bleeding and bruised. 

**

Ellie wakes up before he does. She’s somewhat draped over him, her head resting on his body. It’s a strange adjustment when she wakes up, to be in a bed with someone else. It’s unnatural for her now – she’s not sure she likes the unfamiliarity of the situation. 

Besides, this is Alec bloody Hardy – her old superior. It’s weird. She also has no idea why he’s there either. 

As quietly as she possibly can, she extracts herself from him and gets out of her bed, grabbing a jumper from the pile of clothes in her backpack and noting that it’s still dark outside. 

It hits her, then. The nightmare, the screaming, the tears. Why he’s there. She reaches the bottom of his stairs and her chest starts to hurt, like something is being torn to shreds inside. She nearly falls over with the force of what her life is like now. Crying in her sleep, having to share a bed with her former boss to sleep peacefully, having nightmares so vivid that it felt real.

That’s the thing though. It is real. There is no escaping it when she wakes up. 

**

Hardy finds Ellie on top of one of the hills. He spends nearly an hour looking for her, tries ringing her phone before remembering that it’s in a drawer in his room. He finally spots her up on a hill as the sun slowly rises. 

Ellie’s sat on the ground in front of a tree, her back resting against it and her legs splayed out in front of her. She’s looking straight at him as he walks towards her and doesn’t say a word as he clumsily sits down beside her. 

“It’s beautiful here,” Ellie observes quietly. 

“Yeah, it is. I used to love walking around here in the mornings, the sun rise is incomparable.” 

Ellie turns to look at him. “Used to?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I haven’t been here in four, five years.” 

“Why not?” 

Hardy breathes, long and hard. He’d been trying to avoid this question. “Well,” he starts, unsure of how to explain it. “The cottage belongs to an old friend, old family friend, Mike. Tess and I used to use it as our getaway every other month or so, you know what work’s like. As Daisy grew up, we brought her here too.” He swallows audibly. “Then Tess had the affair, Daisy wanted nothing to do with me and so this place became a horrible reminder of everything that I didn’t have any more.” He pauses and shakes his head. 

Ellie looks at him, blinking slowly. “But you came back.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “It’s beautiful, like you said. I still dream of this place sometimes, of Daisy running around and Tess watching and the sunsets and the picnics and the ice creams.” His voice cracks on the last word, but he collects himself and shrugs. “Oh well.” 

Ellie scoffs. “No ‘oh well’, Alec.” 

“I don’t want to think about it. It happened and there’s nothing I can do about it now.” 

“I’m sorry. She doesn’t deserve you.” 

He breathes out a disbelieving laugh and elbows her. “What are we like?” 

“Pair of bloody depressed ex-coppers.”

“Former detectives club,” Hardy recalls with a fond smile. 

“That we are,” she agrees, resting her head on his shoulder. 

The sky is changing before their very eyes, streaks of pink and orange and red coursing across the horizon in tangled lines. It’s beautiful and innocent and it’s the only thing that matters to them both in that moment. 

**

Hardy casually brings up the idea of them leaving after five days of the cottage, of conversation, of quiet walks and complete and utter solitude. Ellie looks at him like he’s the world’s stupidest man, then changes the subject. 

He doesn’t mention it again. 

**

It’s four in the afternoon on a Thursday when Hardy gets a phone call. Well, Ellie gets a phone call but since he’s in charge of her phone, he answers. 

Ten minutes later, he’s had his ear chewed off by Lucy, asking him when they’re coming home and why Ellie can’t talk to her. He makes excuses and says that she just needs some time. Lucy is not very sympathetic; apparently looking after a two year old is not for everybody. The entire time he’s on the phone, he’s watching Ellie out of the window. She’s sat in the garden on the bench, just staring. There’s a book next to her that hasn’t even been opened. 

Once Lucy has stopped yelling at him, he tries to decide how to broach the subject of returning to Broadchurch. He can’t even begin to imagine what Ellie must be feeling about it. If he could, he’d move her and her kids into the cottage and keep her away from all cliffs and all beaches for the rest of her life. Try as he might, he can’t plausibly do any of that and it makes him feel surprisingly useless. 

After a deep exhale, he ventures down the two flights of stairs and into the garden. 

“Am I cooking dinner tonight, or are you?” she asks him as he approaches. 

“Er, I don’t know, maybe. Listen,” he starts, internally wincing as he sits beside her. “I need to talk to you and I know you’re not gonna like it.” 

Ellie turns her head away. “About going back,” she states after a while, voice flat. 

“Yes,” he confirms. “Your sister’s bored of Fred and unfortunately, we can’t stay here forever.” By the way she stiffens, he knows it’s the wrong thing to have said. 

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, tangling her fingers together. “I can’t.”

Hardy shifts over towards her. “You can. I’ll be there, twenty-four seven.”

“No,” she says bluntly. 

“Ellie,” he pleads. “Come on. Let’s talk about this.”

As she stands up, she turns away from. “I said no.” With that, she walks inside. 

Hardy lets out a deep sigh and rubs his hand over his very unshaven and tired face. “Dammit,” he murmurs, slouching back in the bench. 

He stares into the flowerbeds, into the grass and the potted plants, hoping that maybe they will create answers for him, and for her. 

They don’t. 

**

At eight in the evening, he finds her sitting on the window seat in his room, knees tucked up under her chin and her baggy sweater pulled down over her hands. She’s resting her head on her knees, staring out over the garden that he spent most of the afternoon in. Hardy’s pretty sure she doesn’t hear him walk in – either that, or she’s deliberately choosing not to acknowledge him. 

He sits in the small gap between her feet and the wall, puts a hand on top of hers. “I know it’s hard.” 

“I don’t want to talk,” she says instantly. “That’s all we bloody do anymore, talk, talk and talk some more. I’m bored of it.” 

Hardy laughs a little, because it’s true. 

“I’m bored of talking and I’m bored of crying and I’m bored of having nightmares that make me want to jump off a bridge. I’m so tired,” she whimpers, looking at him now. “I’m so tired but I can’t sleep and if I do, I wake up crying.” 

He squeezes her hand where it’s hidden under her jumper and repositions himself because a small gap on a window seat is not the most comfortable of places. 

“Have you thought about therapy?”

Ellie nearly laughs at him. “More talking.”

“Well, it’s better for it to be out here than stuck up there,” he explains, nodding towards her head. 

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe to the therapy or the talking?”

With a smile, she answers. “Both.”

It’s not that Ellie is happier here, with Hardy and the endless hills and the small supermarket, it’s that the thought of Broadchurch makes her feel completely terrified. Going back to the people, to the rented house, to the cliffs, to her husband in a prison cell, to her son who doesn’t want to be her son anymore… It’s all big and scary and too much for her to handle. 

The whole reason she’s in this cottage with him is because she couldn’t cope. What is she supposed to do now that she knows she can’t manage Broadchurch? Waltz back in like nothing ever happened? Drive to somewhere far away and leave everything behind? Actually jump off the cliff this time?

“Hey,” Hardy says, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Stop thinking.” 

“Useful,” she deadpans. “Really helpful, thanks a lot.”

“No, I mean, stop trying to make it seem scarier than it is.” Again, he says the wrong thing. 

“It’s more than scary, Alec. This is my life now and I hate it. I hate every bloody second.”

Hardy reaches for her, pulls her sleeve away from her hand so he can hold it properly. “You know, you’re a lot stronger than you think you are.”

Ellie scoffs. “How did you work that one out, genius?”

“Because I know you,” he implores. “I know you and I know that anyone else would have crumbled already.”

“Where is your logic?” she cries. “I did crumble, unless of course, nearly throwing yourself off a cliff is the done thing now.”

“That’s what I mean. You didn’t do it.” 

“I really wanted to. I think I still want to.” It’s not easy to say that out loud, and she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself. 

“But you didn’t.” 

Ellie smiles a tiny bit. “No, I didn’t.”

“That’s the most important part.” Hardy shifts and plays with her fingers. It’s grounding and a stark reminder that yes, she is still here and yes, he played a big part in that. “You’re going to have bad days and yes, yours may be worse than other people’s, but the best part is that you wake up the next day and you try again.”

“Shit,” she laughs. “When did you get so deep?”

He grins at her. “Your fault.”

They take a few minutes to breathe and think. Ellie knows what he’s going to say next and as much as she wants to refuse point-blank like a stubborn toddler, she knows he’s right. 

“So, Broadchurch.” 

She smiles at him as much as she can. “Okay.” 

“I’ll be there, whenever you need me, I promise.” He tugs at her hand, rubs his thumb across her wrist. “You can do this,” he says. 

“I know,” she whispers. It feels like victory and loss all rolled into one, but somewhere deep down, it feels good. 

**

As they’re driving back the next day, Ellie thinks of something that makes the journey seem more bearable. She’s got one thing that she didn’t have before: Alec Hardy’s unwavering bloody friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd completed the majority of this chapter before episode four aired, so I was rather excited when Ellie and Hardy (kinda) shared a bed AND went on a road trip together. Clearly Chris Chibnall and I work on similar wavelengths (joke, I wish I had his ingenuity). Also, the nightmare scene was vastly improved after I experienced my own crying-in-my-sleep fiasco this week. I woke up the next morning and found notes on how to describe the crying thing on my phone. #dedication
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. :)


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